


Stories of Passion

by SeverEstHolmes



Series: Heart and Music [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Multi, Passion, consulting detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverEstHolmes/pseuds/SeverEstHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first in a series of one shots all inspired from each line of "Heart & Music" from the Musical 'A New Brain' . Not continuous from each other, but a mix of fluff, angst, Kid!lock, Teen!lock, Johnlock and a healthy measure of music! Mainly Sherlock and John, but other characters such as Mycroft and Greg also crop up too!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything else that the great ACD created. I also hold no rights over the BBC adaptations and additions of characters!

             _'It's goodbye to the shortcuts, hello to the grind._  


_No body ever said it would be an easy ride._

_Suffer for your art.'_

 

            He wasn't sure whether he had read that somewhere, or whether he had made it up in his own head: it was most likely the former as he remembered the phrase causing some confusion in the past. _'Suffer for your art.'_

Sherlock had come across the quote as an adolescent and, up until that point he had worked academically in those interests that he enjoyed, but to _suffer_ for something you enjoyed... it seemed utterly paradoxical to Sherlock's fifteen year old mind. Why would you want to put yourself through agony over something that you really enjoyed? Sherlock loved his music, he adored revelling in science and discovery, but in neither of those areas had he ever pushed himself so he was in pain over them – they came naturally to him. The only thing which had ever caused him discomfort was his social awkwardness and he was pretty convinced that that was a result of his upbringing; but even then it had never caused him suffering – or really many problems at all. Social situations weren't his forte, Mycroft was much better at that sort of thing.

            Sherlock had reckoned his life's goals would probably lie in the areas of science, probably chemistry or genomal biology or something... he had made plans; there was the ambition and the prospect of a Nobel Prize for sure! But that wasn't the way things turned out...

            It hadn't been until he turned twenty-two that he discovered what his true “art” was, and what it it actually meant to suffer for something you love. School hadn't gone too badly for him, but university – well, the monotony had gotten to him in the end; he had needed something to keep him going, to make his life interesting once more! And that something had been cocaine, and then it became a habit, and he had used up all his student loan on it – and he was in debt and behind on all his coursework, and then kicked out... All of those dreams he had once thought he was capable of, a Nobel Prize, all those things; they slipped through his outstretched fingers as easily as though they were grains of sand.

            So instead of being bathed in glory and admiration from the academic world, he found himself squatting in an abandoned lemonade factory, most nights being so cold that sleep was an impossibility, and constantly thinking of the next fix... oh how things had changed from his plans, how much he had let himself down.

            But in his time whilst living rough he made the casual acquaintance of a young policeman, Morton by name, who had – on several occasions – picked him up when he had been in a stupor from the cold, or the drugs.

            Eventually Morton came to trust him, came to appreciate the cleverness that Sherlock displayed when he was in a clear mind and it was at that point that Sherlock exhibited powers as a detective of facts. As a result of a throw-away comment Sherlock had made, Morton had managed to solve a case that had been bugging him for weeks – and that had opened a new avenue for Sherlock. But to get into that avenue meant a long hard slog for Sherlock to get clean from drugs and find himself somewhere to live before he could liaise on official police work. Sherlock had to swallow his pride and ask Mycroft to help him.

            The point of turning his life around – as he went through violent withdrawal and rehabilitation, and fought against the urge to slip back into the comfort blanket which had been his habit – was where it really hit home what it meant to suffer for something you really want. But the arduous road had been worth it when that first case which the police had sent his way had been solved: and the buzz that he experienced from riddling out the twists and turns had been equal to that which the cocaine used to supply him with.

            Establishing himself as _“the world's only consulting detective”_ hadn't been easy either – Mycroft had scorned that choice of profession; the police had been incredibly wary of him at first, except from Morton, as most of them associated him with the drug addled homeless person he had used to be rather than for his ability to solve crimes. It took nearly three years for him to make a proper connection with the police force and for them to trust him... Three years, in which very little work came his way, and more than once he was almost tempted back into his cocaine habit. Abstaining was a challenge, but one he rose to in order to continue on with his work. When the cases came his way they were more than worth the fight he had to put in to keep receiving them.

            Then he had met John, just as his career had begun to take off, and that had made the difficulties that he had opposed worth it. He had always refused to work with someone, but John brought a different element – a different aspect to everything that he did – and it made him work better. Every so often he remembered that quote: _'Suffer for your art'_ , and he had gained a new appreciation of what that meant.

            On the rooftop of St. Bart's Sherlock was recalled to that quote, and about for his art he was not the one who was going to suffer, but John was. His art was his work and his relationship with John... It didn't fit... It wasn't art, it shouldn't be _'Suffer for your art'_ ; it should be ' _Suffer for your passion'_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first oneshot, I'd love to hear what you think about it!  
> The next one will be entitled: Stories of Friendship.


End file.
